Preface:
In writing the first paragraph of this post, I am becoming
increasingly agitated by the need for a gender ambiguous pronoun. One
mentioned, “Ve” was suggested by New Zealand writer Kerli Hulme
and thus feels appropriate for use.
In the
typical (or at least familiar, to us) understanding of tattooing, we
allow meaning to rest entirely in the hands of the tattoo aspirant.
Ve brings vis ideas for a design to the tattooist, whom functions to
develop the concept to an artistic completion and subsequently apply
it to the skin. The process almost begins and ends with the client
while the actual tattoo artist serves as a conduit, a catalyst, a
“prime mover” that sets the tattoo in motion with life and
thereafter separates verself from the existence of the tattoo. Thus,
any insertion of the artist's history or identity into the tattoo is
usually frowned upon. (I can remember one instance specifically
during the tattoo contest show Ink Master where the artist designed a
clock as part of the design for his client and chose his own birth
date as the numbers that the hands pointed to and was vilified by the
judges for it.) This concept of tattoo as an often abstract
expression of ourselves which we wholly own is not foreign to us, and
our insistence to want to ask others what tattoos
or particular symbols mean speaks to that. In fact, the opposite,
i.e. the immediate knowledge of reason for a person's tattoo, seems
unnatural.
By
their nature of being symbols, tattoos can contain any number of
nearly infinite meanings; even such obvious and profound messages
like the cross or the phrase “Carpe Diem” don't necessarily have
to conform with their most common associations. Yet in his essay
“Tatauing the Post-Colonial Body,” Wendt gives an entirely
contrary view to the personal associations that have become almost
definitive. In the Samoan culture, the tataus are not expressions but
statements. They speak of achievements, relationships,
responsibilities, turning points and other factual histories of the
one bearing the tatau. They are composed of symbols that relate to
deities and mythologies that, when imprinted on the skin, are there
to immediately symbolize to the observer a detail about the person.
Even the absence of such a tatau says, in the words of Wendt, “I'm
a coward, physically!” and an unfinished tatau is a fate literally
equatable to the passion of Christ bore by all who share your name.
There is a power in their complete form that conveys a concrete
declaration of person. In a sense, they live independently off
the body, as opposed to because of
the body.
The
recognition of tataus as independent, living structures pervades into
Wednt's works. This most likely stems from the one tatau he does
have, which is a small cross between his finger and thumb that gave
inspiration for a story that would display the power of tataus. The
titular cross of soot first begins as a star, chosen by our young
Wendt surrogate. It has no credible meaning other than it being the
designation of his first tattoo and perhaps a remembrance of the time
he spent with the men and his desire to be like them. The suffering
Tagi begins to draft the star for the narrator, to draw his blood in
a Christ-like covenant, but is called away before it can be finished,
leaving an unintended cross. Chosen by neither Wendt, tattoo
aspirant, nor Tagi, tufuga ta tatau, its power exists independent of
both of them. Its power even developed young Wendt to see the
suffering of Tagi as a Christ parallel. It matured him in a way that
might not have happened had he gotten the aimless star.
Wendt
and the Samoans believe in a power of the tataus that transcends our
typical understanding of the modernized tattoos. If we were to look
past the means of ink on skin, the two practices almost seem to be
coincidental and opposite in nature. One takes the form of a
“dressing” of the body, giving it “armor” and strength, and
reinforcing its innate power. The other, conversely, declothes the
body, allow one to access a personal history of the bearer; it's
vulnerable. Tataus can be waved like a banner, as in Samasoni's eagle
soaring in the sky, affirming the history of the body proudly. Tataus
are strong, transformative, dynamic, and vigorous, not merely
reflective or personal tattoos.
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